Garaforth the Wizard
by X-WolfHunter
Summary: Garaforth was a long-lifed man who lived in Mirkwood. One day, he came into possession of a book which lead him ever on to a secret of power.


**Well, my role on this site has been more defined now: I will simply be completely unresponsive to anything and anyone until I happen to have a fancy for writing a story in a certain universe other than my own. Last time it was Avatar: The Last Airbender (Can't say I'm totally done with that yet, but can't say I'll pick it up again, either), but this time it is the Lord of the Rings. Yes, my non-existent readers! Welcome to Middle-Earth!**

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The name's Garaforth. Never been an excitable fellow, much. Mostly kept to the woods. My, my, the woods are always callin' me - I can feel them now, in fact, though I be in-of-doors.

As fer my age, I don't reckon I could remember if I even cared to try. I know I be older than most might think - seen too many moon cycles fer even the most observant of fellows to count - but still I don't reckon I care too much about it. I have a feelin' that so long I don't care to die, I won't. At least not by time, mind you. I get the distinct feelin' that if someone were to stick a bit o' steel in my gut, I'd die just the same as you.

So ye might've guessed by now that I'm not what most folk would call "ordinary." If that occured to you, then you are definitely on to somethin'. I been wandering Mirkwood fer a long, long time. Don't care so much fer paths or landmarks or the like - I just go where m'feet please to take me, or wherever I hear the least ungodly howls.

I've been in my fair share and then some of ugly fights, but I only lost a small bit o' my foot to a hungry spider-beast and maybe a finger or half to a warg I didn't know was there, though that wasn't strictly in Mirkwood, you see - more like the area a bit north of the bear-man's place, a few miles far from the fringes of the dark forest. Don't seem to remember why I was there - the bear-man don't care too much for me, nor I him (We seem to have had a run-in or two in the past, not that I'd remember where or why), but there I was all the same.

Anyhow, here I am, off in the cabin of an old brown fellow what calls himself "Radagast the Wizard." Ain't never heard of no wizards. But he's a likable enough fellow, and he and I share a similar love fer the forest and wild things. Ain't no place wilder than Mirkwood, you see, so maybe that's why we were both drawn here.

He's an odd fellow, though - got some power about him. He's got a staff what could fry my eyebrows off if he had it to. And his voice can speak perfectly all the tongues of the various beast-folk I've ever encountered. It may be that I'm good with a few beast-tongues, but he knows any language you can name.

Not only that, but I seen him in skins other than his own. He don't like to think I know it's him, but I seen him around the forest before as a wolf, or a bird, or sometimes even a spider-beast. Didn't care for that particular form, since every time I see one o' them my foot tingles.

A few years ago, I went and caught him trying to sneak up on me. Last one to do that's dead, but he ain't like anyone who ever snuck up on me. Second I noticed him, he flew away in the skin of a sparrow! Thought he be out to get me, like them wargs and them wrinkly little fellows what live in the mountains to the west of here. So I decided I'd make myself a bit hard to find, and he's been chasin' me ever since.

Well, he was a better finder than I was a hider in the end, so he finally caught up to me. Bit disappointing, it was. Most fun I've had in many, many years. He grabbed me all roughly in the arm, and he told me who he was and why he wanted so badly to see me. Said some elf-lord named Elrond was of the mind to send some folk through the woods to a Lonely Mountain and he needed a guide through the woods. Guess them High-elves don't care much for their wood-cousins. Radagast must'a been too busy with Wizard-things to do it, so he tracked me down and brought me to 'em.

The elf-folk don't care too much fer a couple years' waitin' time, I guess, so they were still all waitin' at the edges of Mirkwood. Built a nice village, they did. Spent a week or two there feastin'. Better food than spider-beasts, I can tell you that.

So I went with them to their mountain, all curious as to what their purpose was - they didn't want me at first, but I followed 'em 'till they gave in (No way they could shake _me_).

Beautiful place the outside world was, but everything was too neat - wasn't wild at all. Nice to the eyes, but other than that, bad place to be - fer me, at least.

So, deep in the mountain where the sun never shines, the elves and I went to a secret little room in the very heart of the mountain - hot, it was - and gave me a big ol' book that absolutely reeked of wild things. I been up since makin' my way through it - only stopped t'get back to Mirkwood. Found some ol' maps, and some other ol' things written in there. All very interestin', but nothin' more than a fun way to pass the time.

Until I saw the moon-words. I was sittin' in one of the few clearings in Mirkwood (Doubt even the fair wood-elves of Mirkwood or even Radagast know about them) so that I could read in the dark, which is a new pastime of mine, ever since I got the book - anyway, the clouds opened for a few brief seconds, and I caught a glimpse of glowing runes.

As you can imagine, I started walkin' east the second the moon-words disappeared. Normally, I like to avoid walking all about Mirkwood at night, since all manner of spider-beasts and other foul things like the darkness, but I made an exception and made it through just fine, thank you, though I may have had to kill a few things to persuade the others to leave me be.

I finally made m'way to some cloudless skies to the south-west o' the Lake Long 'n sat for an hour or so under darkness and moon-light, 'n I read some moon-words. Here is what they told me, more or less:

_With ancient runes, and more ancient words, those who can grasp the power of those not mortal are any, if they speak right and know proper incantations._

A fairly simple riddle, if I do say so m'self (I be fond of a good riddle game or two to clear m'head of cobwebs). It be sayin' that with proper words and runes, any ol' fellow 'n his grandma can be a Wizard.

I took it, and still take it, as a proper challenge to m'self, more than a lust for some kind of Wizard-spells carved in rocks in m'pockets, so I decided to scour the book fer more moon-words, and I found a moon-map. Well, a bit o' a map. Just a dotted line on a blank page. So I ripped it out - my, how I would've laughed at the expressions on them elves' faces had they seen it - and matched it to one of th' many maps in m'book. Then I just traced it, ripped the map out, and now it's in a pouch on m'neck.

The book be buried in Mirkwood in a wooden box of the elves right under a spider-beast nest, so I fear not that it'd be stolen when I return. So now all I'm doin' is visitin' Radagast for a few supplies fer th' road. O'course, I'm writin' this in m'head, just in case I e'er get the chance or inclination to write a book - if I'm not dead 'n my adventure is good.

"So, Garaforth. You really want to go on this journey for power?" said Radagast as I made m'way to his door.

"I be at yer door, be'nt I?" was my reply. He chuckled, and then I were off. Though, I be not off fer power, but fer the first challenge that caught m'eye since who-knows-when. I know not where m'quest will take me, but I can only hope it will be a challenge.

If there be one thing I remember as I walk, it be that the road has never an end, save those made by the minds of men.


End file.
